


girl boy girl boy

by the_names_of_those_who_love_the_lord



Category: Beavis and Butt-head
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Coming of Age, Other, trans!Butt-Head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_names_of_those_who_love_the_lord/pseuds/the_names_of_those_who_love_the_lord
Summary: Butt-Head avoids the inevitable for as long as he can, but bodies are bodies and his isn't right.





	girl boy girl boy

Every Sunday, if the water hasn't been cut off for the month, Butt-Head runs himself a bath. Sometimes Beavis stays late enough in the evening to join him in the tub. They're nine years old. Butt-Head's mom is never there, so they're free to be as messy and loud as they like.

The first time they do it, Beavis peers into the scummy water and fixes Butt-Head with his trademark pinhole glare. "Uhh, Butt-Head?"

"What is it, dumbass?"

"Did Todd cut off your thingy, like he said he was gonna?"

Butt-Head's cheeks flare red, and his hand torpedoes into the water to cover himself. "What? Uh, no."

Beavis won't let it go: "Can you take off your thingy? Can boys do that?

Butt-Head glares at him, face still plum-coloured. "No, dillweed, it's just -" He swallows. "It's just, just, mine is different to yours."

Beavis sits back to digest this, absentmindedly batting at bubbles. "I, uh, I thought all weewees looked alike."

"Well, mine doesn't," Butt-Head snaps. "It's better 'n yours, so shut up."

'Is not," Beavis mutters, glancing down to see if he can get another glimpse. Butt-Head swats him with his free hand.

"Ugh, quit  _looking,_ Beavis! Stare at your own thingy and quit being a pervert!"

Beavis rubs his cheek and mutters something into his arm that sounds sort of like "at least I can  _see_ mine". But nothing more after that. There are rules between them, a mutual code of conduct, and that code states that you never pump the other kid for info he doesn't want to give. It's the string-and-prayers seal that holds their tense friendship together.

The months, and baths, pass by. Beavis stops noticing the whole weewee situation, forgets it even. It just becomes another part of Butt-Head, like his braces and his bean-shaped eyes and his hydroencephalus.

* * *

Fast-forward, and they're thirteen. One day, Beavis arrives at Butt-Head's house to find him snappier than usual. He doesn't want to watch TV or make fun of music videos or spread marshmallowfluff onto graham crackers. 

"Hey," Beavis barks at him, when Butt-Head doesn't even seem to notice Pamela Anderson's swimsuited boobs. "What's up? You're, like, depressioning on me."

"Cut it out, Buttwipe," Butt-Head mutters. "I'm fine."

Beavis giggles. "No you're not! What happened? Did Todd, uh, did Todd threaten you? You should go Cornholio on him." He screws up his voice: " _Are you threatening meeeee?!_ What, did he say he'd cut off your scholng? You shouldn't worry about that. You've got, like, the special model. Yeah, you got lucky, you got the, um, anti-frustration, uh, castration schlong."

Butt-Head's quiet for a moment. Then he hops to his feet and says, "Come with me. I gotta show you something."

Upstairs, in Buitt-head's putrid room, he reefs open the door of his closet and shows Beavis what's been bothering him: a brand-new training bra. Pink. Lacy. Horrifying, like a lamp made of human skin.

"My mom bought it for me," Butt-Head mumbles, sounding like a zombie. "It's for....girls. Y'know. Girl thingies."

Beavis reaches out and pokes the bra with a cautious finger. He shudders. "Why the hell would she do that? You're a boy. You'll  _never_ have girl-thingies."

Butt-Head sits heavily onto his bed and sighs. "She thinks I'm gonna have 'em. Said I have to wear it once they start coming in." He sounds resigned instead of panicky, as though he's been expecting this catastrophe all his life.

Beavis sits beside him, trying to figure out what to do. "Uhh, do  _you_ think you're gonna get 'em?"

Butt-Head frowns. Standing up, he strips off his shirt and peers down at his chest. Beavis takes off his to provide a comparison.

They stand in front of the stained mirror and look one another over.

"Uh, I can't see a difference," Beavis says at last. "No thingies. Yeah, you're still a boy."

But-Head's shoulders sag with relief. "Thanks, dude. I was worried there, y'know?"

"Yeah." Beavis wants to give him a hug, but decides against it. I know."

* * *

 

The months pass, and Butt-Head never needs the training bra. The boys don't really grow at all; their bodies get longer, but their limbs stay the same. Mr. van Driessen at school talks to them about nutrition, the importance of eating three square meals a day. He signs them up for the breakfast program. They get a little stronger, they stop falling asleep in class, but they don't grow.

They don't have a lot of energy, but they like going on silly adventures. They wander around town lighting things on fire; tiny conflagrations of no consequence. Butt-Head gets them jobs at Burger World; they don't really do a good job, but the customers don't die and they don't tell on the manager for hiring undocumented immigrants and paying them with food, so he keeps them on. They make the rent every month. Things are okay, kind of. Not happy-ever-after okay, but alright enough for Butt-Head to believe that it can continue like that forever.

His voice won't deepen the way Beavis's does, so he learns to talk from the chest, training himself into a ridiculously baritone timbre that freaks out the girls. After a solid month of scraping his throat raw, it becomes a habit. He can even sing in his new voice, but he can't yell. Beavis is jealous; it's way deeper than his own scratchy screech.

There's the thing on down at the dome where guys fight girls wearing bikinis with wiffle sticks; they see the ads on TV. Deciding to train for that night's show, they raid Butt-Head's closet for the right outfits. He finds two more bras that his mother bought him, claiming the one with the AC/DC logo emblazoned on it. They put them on, giggling, forgetting about that time two years ago when Butt-Head saw those bras as the end of his world.

Boys can wear bras and still be boys. Besides, it's just dress-up. He doesn't need a bra, anyway.

* * *

 They're sixteen, now, and eating a little better because they finally got their act together at work and their manager gave them a raise. Butt-Head's body begins to fill out; he comes from a family of weight-bearers, not toothpicks. But worse than the jelly belly and the thunder thighs is what's happening to his chest.

"You couldn't hold it off forever," Beavis tells him, sitting on the edge of the bath and watching him cry in front of the mirror. Butt-Head's shirt is off; two pitiful, damning buds are reflected in the clouded glass. "It's just, uh, you just work that way. That's how it happens sometimes."

"I  _know,"_ Butt-Head moans, his hands clenched on the rim on the sink. "I, I only thought....it was going so good, Beavis, this isn't fair!"

"It's not," Beavis agrees. "But, um, it is what it is. If it helps, I don't see you any differently. You're still the same dumbass you always were. 'Cept now, you're a dumbass with tits."

"I hate it," Butt-Head sobs. "I fuckin' hate this. Why - why couldn't I have been born like you? It sucks being a girl! I don't want any of this!"

"I, uh, I don't think you're a girl."

"Yeah, maybe not before, but now I have boobs."

"So? You're a guy with boobs. Put your shirt on and come downstairs. I'll microwave some nachos."

Beavis's kindness makes Butt-Head choke. "Fuckin' chode." But he puts back on his shirt and follows him down into the kitchen.

* * *

Next, the bleeding: horrible stomachache, followed by ruddy spots on the couch. Butt-Head shows Beavis his gory boxers; Beavis has never envied him more.

"Fuckin' rad, dude," he admits.

Butt-Head grins. "You wish you could pull this shit off," he brags. "You'd probably die, buttknocker."

"Butt-Head, I don't care if you're perioding to death. Say it again and I'll kick your ass."

"Buttkocker!"

"Aw, get fucked!"

* * *

Butt-Head wears two sports bras under his suit for prom, but he gets breathless at nine o'clock and ditches one.

Beavis glances at him when he comes back from the bathroom. "People're gonna stare at you."

Butt-Head snorts. "Let 'em. I don't, like, care? I wanna breathe."

They sit together at the edge of the dance floor, scoping the girls, yelling out come-ons and getting only dirty looks for their efforts. A couple of girls call Butt-Head a carpet muncher. He grins and flips them off, saying, "Uh, you  _wish_ your boyfriend did that."

In the lull that follows, Beavis twists his fingers together and says, "Hey, can I, like, ask you something?"

"Sure, asshole, go ahead."

"When did you....know....that you weren't a girl?"

"Uhh, I dunno. When I was born, I guess." Butt-Head stretches out his legs. "Don't get me wrong, chicks are cool, I dig 'em, but I'd never wanna  _be_ one. We're guys, buttwipe. We're in this together."

Beavis ruminates on this for a second. "Y'know, I'd donate my schlong to you, if I could."

Butt-Head snorts. "Keep talking sappy like that and everybody's gonna think we're each other's dates."

"I mean it."

Butt-Head side-eyes him. Beavis doesn't know for sure, but he thinks the look in Butt-Head's weird green eyes is love. "I know you do. C'mon, let's spike the punch and split to baseball some frogs."

 

 

 

 


End file.
